Throw Me a Life-line
by springburn
Summary: Field of Blood story. Featuring Dr Pete.
1. Chapter 1 Introduction

I've had this story buzzing around my head for sometime now, but was reluctant to start it, as I had no idea where to take it. (And I was concentrating on Malcolm!)  
There are not many Dr Pete stories, and all the ones I've read feature Clara. I've enjoyed those immensely but very much wanted to steer clear of that myself.  
My female character is entirely made up, she is a little older than Clara, and somewhat damaged. I have set the story in 2011, when the programme was broadcast, rather than when it was actually set. In this universe Pete is not dying, I need to keep him alive so that he can mend! The nurse in me likes to try to fix people...even if they are my story characters! It's going to be a slow burner and a descriptive piece, which I hope won't be too boring.  
I'm fully aware that we actually know very little about Pete. The actual role is a fairly small one. For me, that is not terribly important. The scenes that Peter Capaldi is in are so compelling, and I find it one of his most moving and endearing roles.  
Coming from a medical background I find his portrayal spot on (I'm not sure whether he has personally witnessed alcoholism or someone suffering from cancer, but it shows just what a fine actor he really is.)

The story title is taken from a Joan Armatrading song 'Save Me' which can be found on her 'Love and Affection' album, which, although old, is full of wonderful songs, this one being particularly appropriate.

THROW ME A LIFE-LINE.

CHAPTER ONE. Introduction.

(Setting: a small cafe/coffee shop in a Glasgow street)

Maggie had seen him come into the cafe most mornings but knew very little about him, not even his name, yet somehow he fascinated her.  
She knew he worked in the newspaper office down the street, and that was the extent of it.  
In he came, at his usual time, shuffling to the same table in the corner and ordering the same breakfast and a cup of builders tea.  
Taking no notice of the other diners, head bowed, as he scanned his newspaper and sipped his tea, dark rimmed glasses perched too near to the end of his nose, in a world of his own.  
Always in the same clothes...Maggie considered this, he either wore the same brown suit, waistcoat and shirt everyday, or he had several identical suits tucked away somewhere, who could say? He wasn't dirty or smelly exactly, he just looked frayed around the edges.  
She guessed he was probably around 45, although the way he shuffled made him look older. He could be regarded as quite handsome, but the gait and a slight reddening of the nose, marked him as a drinker.  
A fine head of salt and pepper curls, stood to attention on top of his head, which he frequently combed through with his long bony fingers, nicotine stained. He wore a plain gold wedding band, but Maggie couldn't, somehow, conceive of a wife, since he didn't appear to be cared for in any way. Misty grey-blue eyes, that seemed dull and tired of the world, peered out from atop the spectacles as he glanced up at her approach.  
"Mornin'" she said, cheerfully, "lovely day!"  
"Is it?" He replied, " I'd no noticed."  
His accent was broad, and local. The burr unmistakable, voice deep and melodic, rumbling in his throat.  
"You done with your plate?" She tried, conversationally.  
"Aye." He said and pushed it towards her. Returning to his paper.  
Moments later, she watched him push his chair back with a scrape, gather his belongings and head towards the door, not looking up or glancing around him at all.  
Maggie sighed and went back to her washing up.

Maggie Fraser's prospects were pretty bleak, to say the least. She had arrived in Glasgow less than a year previously. One London morning she had woken to the realisation that she could take no more from the foul mouthed, abusive git that she lived with. So, she packed her few goods and chattels and headed back from whence she came. Aged 35 and unmarried, she had no money, nowhere to stay and hardly knew a soul. An old school girlfriend offered her a couch to doss on, and she'd managed to find the cafe job through her. Intelligent (apart from where choice of men was concerned!) and reliable, she was soon manageress. Under her care, the little cafe prospered, many of the newspaper people came there, the food was good, the place spotless and the welcome cordial.  
Eventually finding a small flat, she began to rebuild some semblance of a life, albeit a rather solitary one, but it had not been easy.  
Chatting to the customers was the joy of her day, knowing that after the café door was locked in the evening, there was no one to speak to until the following morning.  
An attractive woman; long fair hair and freckles, sea-blue eyes, tallish but slim (some would say, a bit too slim), Maggie should have had a lot going for her, but somehow her choices in love always seemed disastrous. So, she'd decided...no more falling recklessly in love, she was going to take time out and be on her own for a while.

Oh, how wrong can one woman be! How foolish, when fate has other ideas. Things happen , beyond our control, we are powerless to prevent them! 


	2. Chapter 2 Immune or Evasive

All Chapter Titles from now on are taken from the song lyrics of 'Save Me'. Joan Armatrading. It's beautiful, it's a song I've loved for ever, it's on YouTube!

CHAPTER TWO. IMMUNE OR EVASIVE.

Torrents of rain poured endlessly. The type that only Glasgow can produce.

He entered the cafe in a swirl of wind and water. A tan Mac that had seen better days, over his usual suit, shoulders damp, hair plastered against his head.

Coming from behind the counter, Maggie approached him,

"Shall I take your coat?" She offered, "I'll hang it over the rad to dry. Usual breakfast is it?"

He regarded her with a befuddled air, as if computing what she said.

"That's kind o' ye," he replied, wiping at the drips that ran down his face from his head. His glasses had fogged up and he looked rather comical.

" Maggie," she smiled, offering her hand.

"Pete," he took the proffered hand briefly before surrendering his sodden raincoat.

"Sit yourself down Pete, I'll bring your food over in a sec."

Shuffling to his usual corner table, he lowered himself down with a grateful sigh. Instead of opening his newspaper as he normally did, and lowering his head into its depths, he looked across at her, glasses down, blinking owl-like.

She placed his mug of tea in front of him.

"Ye no from round here hen?" he asked, blowing his nose on a large hanky.

"Well, I am actually, but I've lived in London a while."

"Ah!" He nodded sagely, "that'll be it!"

Removing his spectacles he began cleaning them vigorously on the edge of his jacket, holding them to his face for inspection, before replacing them low on his nose.

"Folk don't usually come back once they've escaped." He said, looking up again.

"If they've go' any sense."

"No...well, I didn't have much choice!" She replied quietly. "I'll go fetch your food."

She turned away, but to her surprise, he continued...

"Sorry if I touched a nerve, I did nae mean to pry."

His face had softened, damp hair now springing into a mop of unruly curls, that rather suited him.

Maggie smiled down at him.

"It's fine, don't worry," she said, "guess I'm just a bit over sensitive is all."

"Aye, well," he shrugged, "London's loss is our gain!"

And holding his mug of tea aloft in salute to her,

"Cheers!" He said.

Plate empty, Pete yawned and stood to leave. Maggie bought him his Mac.

"Still a bit damp, I'm afraid," she held it up, as he turned his back to slide his arms in.

"No matter, I've no' far to go. Thanks for the trouble." He gave her a shy half smile, and headed off down the street.

It was the first conversation she'd really had with him, and it was nothing really, just small talk. There was something about him that intrigued her, he seemed so solitary, so unforthcoming, secretive almost, and part of her wanted to know why. What it was that brings a man to that point. He wasn't old but he seemed ancient; dusty and spent, like a leather bound Victorian book in a second hand shop. As the day progressed Maggie found her thoughts returning to him, but she couldn't explain why.

Today, Pete sat in his usual corner, and he looked terrible. Face sallow and haggard, eyes bleary, head that seemed too heavy for his body. He peered at her unseeing, as she set his breakfast in front of him.

"You okay, Pete?"

"Fine!"

The snap of his response was a signal not to ask further, Maggie toyed with the idea of commenting again, but thought better of it.

Pushing his plate away, contents half eaten, he struggled to his feet and shuffled to the door.

It was only after he had gone that she realised his phone and wallet were still on the table.

Some fifteen minutes passed, when the little bell on the cafe door tinkled, as a new customer came in. A young girl of about 17 entered, scanning the tables as she did so.

She crossed to the counter.

"Hi," her round face was bright and alert, curious and questioning, all at once.

"Dr. Pete wondered if he left his wallet and stuff behind?"

Maggie wasn't sure...should she hand it over? The girl was a stranger after all.

"Sorry," the girl said, realising the dilemma,

"I'm Paddy, I'm a junior at the newspaper," she flashed an ID badge, "Dr. Pete is my friend."

She held out her hand, and Maggie took it.

"DOCTOR Pete?" She said head cocked to one side questioningly.

"Yeah, that's what we all call him," she smiled as Maggie retrieved the phone and wallet from the back of the counter and handed it over.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for him. I appreciate it." She turned and hurried away.

Doctor?...Doctor?...really? Surely he couldn't be a Doctor, Maggie mulled this new information over in her mind. He was a newspaper hack, a reporter, surely he couldn't be a Doctor?

Maybe he was, once, maybe he'd killed one of his patients accidentally and that had tipped him over the edge?

'Maggie, you have too fertile a mind' she thought to herself. This man was such an enigma!

Three days passed, without Pete appearing for his breakfast. He did not appear at all. Each time the doorbell rang, Maggie looked up expectantly, but it wasn't him. Where was he? She was concerned.

Why should she be? He was nothing to her. Just another customer. Yet somehow, he wasn't.

After closing up at the end of the day, Maggie left the cafe resolved to seek the answer.

Somewhat dingy and smelling strongly of stale tobacco, the newspaper office door squeaked abrasively.

"I'm looking for Paddy," she peered through the dirty wire partition that separated one world from another in the foyer.

Without a word, the diffident receptionist twirled in her chair and buzzed, into the ether, speaking through an intercom.

Seconds later, Paddy appeared. Her frown changed with recognition...

"Hi, again!" She smiled.

"I hope you don't think I'm being nosey, but Pete hasn't been in for a couple of days, and I wondered if he was okay?" she was babbling, for goodness sake, get a grip!

A younger man appeared behind Paddy. He wore the air of someone permanently tired of life...

"He'll be on a massive feckin' bender," he said loudly, waving his arm in a dismissive gesture.

"Always is, this time of year...he'll surface eventually! Meanwhile we'll just all carry the bugger, like we always do!"

Paddy sighed heavily,

"That's Mr. Devlin, he's our boss," she grimaced slightly, "Dr. Pete is...indisposed, but he'll be okay. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Right...okay, I...um, thanks!" Maggie couldn't really ask any more and turned to leave.

Paddy, put out a hand and touched her arm,

"It's nice to know someone else cares about him," her voice was gentle and there was a hint of emotion, she looked searchingly into Maggie's face, scanning it, almost probing. Then she ghosted a hint of a smile at what she seemed to see there.

"He's a good man," she whispered, "despite it all. And he's been very kind to me. He deserves to have someone care." Then she spun around and was gone.

Maggie sauntered homeward. She hated the weekends, once the cafe was shut after a Saturday lunchtime, she had little to fill her time. Books and music and sketching were her main passions, she often took herself off to the Art Gallery, she could spend hours wandering there, just gazing at the wonderful works. Sitting on the viewing benches she would sketch the pictures, it was something she never tired of.

Crossing the street, she suddenly spotted a familiar form opposite. Pete was walking with his head bowed forward, as though battling a strong wind, although there was not a breath. He held his coat bunched at the chest, clutched in his long fingers, his tall, lean frame swamped by it. In his other hand he held a small posy of roses. The walk was unsteady, and he looked neither left nor right, nor up or down...concentrating on keeping a straight line.

It was a split second decision, but she followed him. Keeping her distance, not that he was aware of her or anyone else. God! What was she? A stalker now? She felt ashamed, but somehow she couldn't stop herself.

The wrought iron gates of the cemetery stood open, like welcoming jaws. Pete passed through unheeding, and she watched him gingerly pick his way through the headstones. Not daring to creep closer, she saw him bend, almost toppling, gripping the top of a stone to steady himself. Laying the flowers gently down, he stood for a moment or two, before retreating to a bench a few feet away, sinking down.

Staring off into the distance, his head gradually lowered, shoulders beginning to shake. Hands over his face, and then in his hair as he wept. A lump strangled her throat, Maggie wanted to go over and hug him, but how could she intrude on the man's grief? She didn't know him. He didn't know her.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a hip flask, and took a long draft, slumping back against the wooden seat. Maggie slunk away, guiltily. Instead of heading home, she returned to the cafe, only a few minutes away.

Empty chairs, empty tables. Only the sound of the sparse traffic outside. Mind wandering, recalling her own miserable experiences in London, loosing her parents, thinking of Pete, she lost track of time. Glancing at the clock, she noticed three hours had passed, it was almost 5pm.

Wiping her damp face and making herself a coffee in a takeaway cup, she locked up, intending to head home.

Passing the cemetery gates, she glanced in.

Oh God! He was still sitting there.


	3. Chapter 3 The Currents Uncertain

CHAPTER THREE. THE CURRENTS UNCERTAIN.

Her inner conflict from earlier melted away and Maggie crossed the uneven ground to the bench seat and sat down at his side.

Leaning back, still and silent, eyes closed, for a moment she thought him asleep. Some sense warned him of her presence, however, and he raised his head very slowly, blinking from his reverie.

The depths of misty blues and greys somehow watered down, swollen and red rimmed. With difficulty he turned to look at her, head bobbing slightly as he fought to focus.

She didn't speak but handed him the coffee cup with a nod. Recognition dawned, and he reached a pale hand to take it from her.

They sat in silence.

Maggie looked at the stone in front of her and read the inscription...

In loving memory of

Lorna Macpherson .

Beloved wife of Peter

Taken from us before her time.

20th April 2001. Aged 34 years.

And of

Shona Macpherson

Too precious to live

21st April 2001. One day of life.

Heaven could not wait for them .

A cold fist gripped her heart. Tightening her throat and chest. He sat, passively at her side. One hand resting on his thigh. Sipping from the paper cup. She placed her hand over his, still not speaking, tears brimming.

Pete looked down at her hand as it covered his own, eyes searching her face. He didn't pull his hand away.

"Why're ye here?" The slur in his voice made his words indistinct.

"I'm sorry," she tried to keep her tone even, "I saw you and I just thought you might need..."

"I don't !" He replied, harshly.

Removing his hand from hers, he made to stand, but his legs defied him. Staggering and loosing his balance, Maggie gripped his forearm, to steady him, but he ripped away from her grasp, almost catching her in the face as he flailed.

Her reaction was instant, with a cry she fell back from him, arms up as if to ward off imaginary blows, cowering back, eyes wide with fear. She almost toppled, but saved herself in time, clutching the bench for support. Utter shock registered in his fuddled brain, when he saw her terror...terror of him...

Dropping the remains of the coffee, he held his hands, palm up, towards her,

"No, no, no, no..." Head shaking from side to side, voice wavering, his hand now seeking hers,

"Ye did nae think...? I would never...! Christ! I'm sorry, sorry, you must think me a monster..."

He lowered himself onto the bench again, head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably, nose running, mouth twisted,

"Ye were jus tryin tae be nice, and look what I done! " he gasped.

Although her breathing still came in erratic bursts, she laid a hand on his shoulder,

"It's okay, it's okay! " she squeezed gently, "Pete...it's alright, I'm alright, you startled me, that's all."

"Oh, no hen," he shook his head, " that was nae you bein' startled...that was pure fear, ye thought I was about tae smack ye..."

" I might be a drunken bastard, but I dinnae hit on women, never, never, never!"

A fresh round of sobs wracked him. Maggie wanted to weep herself...

"This is my fault, I should never have come here, poking my nose where it's not wanted. I do it every time, I get it wrong every time, I should be apologising to you. It's just that you looked so alone and so sad, I just wanted..."

Pete's tears faltered, he stared at her in astonishment,

"If someone hits ye, hen, it's nae your fault," he said gently, " it's theirs. Nothing ye cud do, deserves that!"

He lapsed into silence.

"I should go," Maggie gave his shoulder another squeeze, " I think I've done enough damage for one day!"

"Will you be okay?"

He turned to her with a slight smile,

"Aye," he said, "young Paddy'll drop by later, she keeps me in check!"

"She seems a nice lass."

"Aye, that she is, she's my pal, and she looks out fer me. God knows why, but I'm glad she does."

"She reminds me of me when I was her age. All spunk and fire! Till it gets beaten out o' ye."

"I'm sorry Maggie, sorry for it all...I'm no much o' a man, but I'm grateful to ye for caring."

"I'm sorry too, sorry for being a nosey parker." She held out her hand...

"Friends?"

He took her proferred hand, fingers closing around hers, thumb tracing over the back,

"Friends." He said, eyes cast down.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, I could call a taxi?"

"No, hen, I'll sit here a wee while yet." He released her hand, and fumbled in his pocket for the flask.

"I'll see ye."

"Bye...and Pete? Take care...please."

Turning, she walked away, and his eyes followed her for a moment, before bringing the silver flask to his lips, and taking a swig.

Maggie walked home instead of catching the bus. She needed time to think, clear her head. Despite her best intentions, she had the feeling she was somehow being sucked towards Pete. He really was the last thing she needed, after her past experiences, but something seemed to draw her in. It was true, she felt sorry for him, but it was more than that. There was something about him, some quality he possessed. The person he once was, she felt, was only just below the surface, and she wondered what it would be like, to see that old side of him, that he now liberally soaked in whiskey. What had he been like before?

Monday was the worst day of the week. Somehow, dragging yourself out of bed on a Monday, was always harder than all the other days.

The weather had been pretty dismal, wet and grey and rather depressing. Pete was sitting in his usual corner, with his mug of tea and breakfast. To be fair, he didn't look any worse, than he did usually, despite his drinking binge. The cafe was quiet, so she sat opposite him at his table, hoping to engage him in conversation.

He peered at her over the rim of his glasses, with a quizzical expression.

"Why'd ye want to bother yesel wi me? I'm no' interesting, I'm nothing, I'm just a tired sad ol' drunk!"

"I don't believe that for one minute, Pete! I can talk to you can't I? I don't have an agenda."

"I'm no' sure what you want from me, but you'll be disappointed. I can't give ye anything."

Maggie sighed...

"I don't want anything, I'm asking for nothing. I was just trying to be friendly."

"Aye, well, I'm no' much of a friend, my life is a wasteland. No one would want to share tha' !"

"They might if you gave them the chance...Paddy seems to think you're worth the effort!"

Pete gave a little half smile and huffed.

"Tha's different, I helped her wi' a story, got her noticed. Now she thinks she's obliged to me, and I cannae shake her! She'll tire of me eventually, they always do."

"I think you underestimate her. She's fond of you, I can tell."

"Aye, mebee, but she'll no' fix me, I'm beyond fixing. Tha's just the way it is."

" I don't believe that, Pete, no one is a hopeless cause. Not even you."

"Look lass, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm no' your pet project. You'd best find yesel someone else to minister to. You'd be wastin' ye time wi' me. Pretty girl like you, oughta be fightin' 'em off! There's nae way back fer me."

Pushing back his chair, he rose to leave.

"That's just what I've had to do...fight them off," she replied, sadly.

"My life was just as big a wreck as yours. But I'm not beaten yet, and I need every friend I can get, and I'd like that to include you, and Paddy too, if she's willing."

Pete gathered his belongings, stuffing them into his pockets, as he made for the door.

"Well, I guess I cannae say no to that then," he smiled, " you must be a glutton for punishment, tha's all I can say!"

Bunching his Macintosh to his chest, he was gone.

The weeks turned into months, they know no better.

Paddy started visiting the cafe regularly for her lunch. She was a bright, open girl and Maggie liked her. At home, the teenager had a tough time, just as Maggie did when she was her age. It was the clash with her parents that had prompted her to make her bid for escape, by going to London.

The other journalists at the paper, gave the lass a hard time too, calling her fat and worse. Only Pete defended her, and Paddy would forever be grateful for that.

Most mornings Pete turned up for his breakfast, sometimes looking more worse for wear than others.

Despite his reticence, he did make an effort to talk, difficult for him, though it was. It was mainly small talk but at least he tried. Maggie also noticed, he lingered over his food and seemed less eager to leave the warm atmosphere of the cafe and head off to the newspaper office.

She would sometimes catch him watching her intently as she worked behind the counter. Only to glance down, if she turned towards him.

On this particular Friday, Maggie was late locking up. The last customers had been slow to leave. It had been a long week and she was weary. Despite her weariness, she walked home, she felt she needed the air. The thought of returning to her solitary flat, did not fill her with any great joy. Although she had planned to shop and spend time at the gallery the next day. She decided, for a change, to order a takeaway. Cooking for one was very tedious.

Somehow, time ran away with her, it was late when she decided to phone in her order. Reaching for her handbag, she discovered her purse was missing.

Spending some time hunting for it, she suddenly remembered, placing it on the counter in the cafe, prior to leaving. Damn it!

This was her weekend off. Every third weekend the cafe owner worked the Saturday shift for her. The cafe was only open until lunchtime anyway, and it gave her a nice two day break. There was no surviving the weekend without her money, bus pass and cards. There was nothing for it but return to the shop and retrieve it.

Walking the streets late at night was not to be recommended, she walked swiftly and purposefully, not making eye contact with passersby. Reaching the cafe, she let herself in and there was her purse, on the counter next to the coffee machine. Thank goodness!

The bell tinkled as she closed and fastened the door. It was then she heard it.

A groan came from the alley opposite, which lead to the street from the side entrance to the Press Bar, which adjoined the newspaper offices.

At first she suspected it to be a tramp, or just a drunk lying there. She approached the slumped form cautiously. As she drew closer, she recognised the shape. It was Pete, and he was covered in blood.


	4. Chapter 4Blood in the Rain Running Thin

All chapter titles are song lyrics from 'Save Me' by Joan Armatrading, which is the song that inspired the story.

CHAPTER FOUR.  
BLOOD IN THE RAIN RUNNING THIN.

He lay at a crazy angle, half on the ground, half against the wall. Legs splayed, arms at his sides. Puddles of water around him had soaked and besmirched his clothes. The pockets of his Mac and his suit jacket had been turned inside out and his watch, which he wore on a waistcoat fob chain, had been ripped away.  
Groaning again as she reached him, she could see a vicious head wound, from which blood was flowing freely. It trickled down his face, under his broken spectacles, and soaked into his suit and shirt. He was barely conscious.  
"Pete, Pete...oh God..."  
Maggie did her best to cradle his head, fingers pressing in an attempt to stem the blood flow. His hair was matted and sticky, and it was difficult to locate the exact place from which it poured.  
Fumbling for her phone, she called emergency services, it seemed like an age until she heard the sirens and saw the flash of a blue light, although in reality it was only a few minutes.  
The paramedics took over. Shining a torch into his face, speaking to him, trying to keep him with them, as they strapped him to the trolley.  
"May I go with him?" She pleaded.  
She was allowed into the back of the ambulance, and sat among the tubes and swabs and packs of dressings, as she watched them work on him.  
Shirt pulled open to the waist, pads were applied to his skinny chest. A hasty dressing applied to the head wound. His face looked so deathly pale, that for a moment she feared he had passed from this world, but his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and he moaned from time to time pitifully.  
Once the trolley disappeared through the swing doors of the A&E, she was directed to the reception to give what details she could.  
For some hours she sat in the sterile corridor. Grateful that she had her purse, at least she was able to get a coffee for herself, as she waited patiently.  
"Miss Fraser?"  
The Doctor looked enquiringly.  
"I believe you came in with Mr Macpherson?"  
"I did...is he okay?" She rose to her feet, feeling unsure as to what news would come.  
"You can come and see him, he's not very with it, but his head is obviously harder than it looks!"  
Maggie sighed with huge relief and followed the medic, down the corridor and into the curtained booth.  
Pete lay on his back, dried blood still on his clothes, his head heavily bandaged. Knuckles skinned and bruises along his forearms, he raised his eyelids as she entered.  
Maggie could not really describe her feelings as she saw him propped there. She touched his long fingers gently.  
"Hey you!" She whispered.  
He smiled weakly in reply, but did not speak.  
"There's nothing broken," the doctor remarked, " we've been observing him these past hours, ideally we'd like to keep him in, but he's insisting he wants to go home."  
Pete's eyes searched her face desperately. Asking without words.  
"That's okay, I'll stay with him," she said, without thinking." Can you arrange some transport?"

Drawing up outside a neat terraced row of small houses, two up, two down and a blue front door, the medics helped him inside. Maggie followed, as they made him comfortable on the sofa. He sank down with a grateful sigh, leaning his head back against the cushions.  
Medication and dressings were handed over in a paper bag, and they were alone.  
"I'll be fine now, hen, you away haeme." He said with a slur.  
"You're joking!" She replied, " I'm going nowhere, there's no way I'm leaving you by yourself, you can barely stand!"  
"I'm not hearing ANY arguments, I need to clean you up and get you to bed."  
She placed a finger to his lips before he could protest.  
"Please, Pete, for once in your life, accept the help that's offered you. This really isn't something you can do alone."  
He shrugged and bowed his head in resigned acceptance. Peering up at her under the bandage, he looked a little like a comical pirate.  
"Look at you!" She laughed,"come on let's try and make you feel human again."

Gingerly she hooked her arm under his and raised him up. He winced as he moved, it took ages for her to help him to the bathroom, one stair at a time, as he swayed and leaned on her heavily. Putting the toilet seat down, she eased him onto it, as he was still shaky on his legs and she feared he would fall. She knelt at his feet, to reach up and start to unbutton his shirt.  
"What are you doing?" His hand closed over hers to stop her.  
"Pete, I'm going to get you undressed and get you washed, you stink of blood and booze."  
His brows knitted into a frown...  
"You're doing nae such thing!"  
"Pete...don't be such a prude, I was a nurse in London. I've seen more naked bodies than you've had hot dinners. I've no doubt your's is much the same!"  
"But you've no seen mine! I cannae let you do this!"  
"Don't be so bloody stubborn, I won't look, I promise...now come on!"  
With great reluctance he let her continue. She eased him out of his filthy shirt. His poor ribs were horribly bruised, as if he'd been in a stampede. He winced in pain repeatedly. Still kneeling, she untied his laces and slid his feet out of his shoes, followed by his socks. His big toe poked through a hole in the left one. His eyes locked intently on her own as she unbuckled his belt and undid his trouser button and fly.  
"Now put your arms around my neck and lever yourself up, so I can get these off," she said quietly.  
His look did not waver, as she helped him stand and peeled off his damp encrusted trousers and boxers.  
"Easy now," she said, "let's get you in the bath."  
His body was lithe and very lean, taut skin over muscle, hardly any fat at all. She'd promised him she wouldn't look, and made a conscious effort to overt her eyes from his backside and genitals.  
She was not entirely successful in this endeavour! He had shapely thighs and bottom, but all peppered with livid marks and scuffs.  
Once she had him seated in the warm water, back curved over his stomach, head bent forward, she washed him gently, with a sponge, rinsing the dried blood away, and peeling the sticky ECG pads from his chest. He groaned as they stuck to the sparse hair there. The trickling water made him shudder as it ran down his bony spine, but she squeezed the sponge over his back several times, and he sighed deeply, closing his eyes. A single tear leaked out from under his lashes. Something made Maggie's throat constrict and she swallowed thickly.

Helping him out of the bath was more difficult than getting him in, as he was too sore for her to pull on his arms and too weak to help himself. Eventually, however, he managed to stand and she wrapped a towel around him to hide any embarrassment.  
Dressing him in his pyjamas, she walked him to his bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed, before guiding his legs under the covers.  
"Rest, now Pete...it's already Sunday morning, but you rest and I'll be here when you wake up."  
"Maggie...I'm no' quite sure what I done to deserve this, but I'm grateful to ye." He said sleepily.  
"It's fine Pete, just get some shut eye okay!" She squeezed his arm gently, and switched off the lamp.  
He curled up like a child, and settled himself. He would be asleep in minutes she guessed.

Downstairs, Maggie took in the home that was Pete's sanctuary from the world. It was a little like stepping into an old sepia photograph. The house was not dirty, but it was...faded. Downstairs consisted of a hallway with a galley kitchen at the back. Old fashioned butler sink, a small table and two chairs, small two-ring stove and a fridge that hummed noisily. The living room was probably once two small rooms, but had been made into one, and went from a bay window looking directly onto the street, to a door which opened onto a tiny garden at the back. It smelled vaguely of tobacco and citrus and malt whiskey.  
Books in shelves lined one wall, and she traced her finger over the spines as she moved along. Leather bound tomes, books of poetry, Shakespeare's sonnets. Newer books on theology, religious tracts and a beautiful old Bible were amongst them. Tucked at the back was a small religious icon, the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child, and a set of Rosary beads, pushed out of sight and forgotten. There were no photographs on display anywhere.  
On the wall nearest the small fireplace hung a wooden crucifix and a sun-bleached framed certificate. Maggie peered at it, curiously... 'Doctorate of Divinity' she read. Goodness, so he had trained for the priesthood then! How did he end up as a newspaper reporter?  
Continuing her circuit passed a three piece suite, which had seen better days, she came to a walnut desk, standing in the bay window. An old Olympia typewriter, sheaves of papers, curled at the edges, files and letters, an ink-well, pens, pencils, envelopes and all manner of detritus, lay strewn there. Heavy damask curtains, closed to shut out the world, hung behind it.  
Returning to the mantlepiece over the electric bar fire, she found a pair of tarnished brass candlesticks, a fine old clock with Roman numerals, which ticked soothingly and a silver photo frame, with no picture inside it. In the corner adjacent was a low side-board, which held a television set and a large Bush radio, and three bottles of Scotch with a couple of tumblers.  
She curled up on the sofa, pulling a tartan throw over herself, and drifted into an uneasy slumber.

Waking with a jolt, a few hours later, she felt terribly thirsty, her stomach rumbled. The kitchen cupboards and fridge yielded very little that was remotely edible, she sniffed the milk suspiciously...and decided to sally forth in search of a shop. Pocketing Pete's bunch of keys, she hurried into the chill early morning air. All was still and quiet when she returned, no sound came from upstairs, so she set to making a mug of tea and something to eat. Just as the kettle boiled, there came a call from upstairs.  
"Maggie! Are ye there lass?"  
Pete was struggling to raise himself, he had stiffened up overnight and every move was infinitely more painful, now that he was sober in the cold light of day.  
Gently she eased him forward. The head bandage had loosened in the night and was threatening to become a blindfold. Carefully, Maggie began to unwind it. His head was a mess. Dried, caked blood, matted his hair. A long line of neat stitches in his scalp.  
Once in the bathroom again, she sat him on a little stool, with his back towards the sink.  
"I'm going to wash your head, I'm going to be really careful and really gentle, do you trust me?" She asked.  
Pete frowned, "I guess..." He replied, with consternation.  
There was no shower spray, so they had to make do. Sink filled with warm water she encouraged him to tilt backwards until his head was over the bowl, this was an ordeal, not so much for the pain it caused him, but the fact he was resting his head in her hand and trusting her to support its weight while she let the water stream over him. Massaging a little shampoo into his scalp and avoiding the stitches, she moved her fingers through the matted curls with the lightest of touches.  
It was not lost on Maggie, just what a sensual thing this was, as she smoothed the suds back and away from his forehead and eyes, almost stroking his head. From being initially tense to the point of snapping, he began to relax into her caress, eyes fluttering shut. Her gaze was drawn by the curve of his sensitive mouth, the way his lips pressed together as he almost hummed his approval. She was so carried away that her movement stilled, and he opened his eyes, wondering why she had stopped.  
"Sorry!" She blushed, " I almost dropped off there."  
He wasn't convinced, she could tell, but she tried her best to make light of it and he declined to comment. Her cheeks betrayed her, however, and continued to burn like fire. Easing him forwards, she towelled off the worst and combed his hair back away from his forehead. It stayed there for a few moments before springing up into something resembling a fluffy chick. Maggie laughed to see it.  
The pain in his chest, each time he breathed, was written on his face. Slipping him into a clean shirt was purgatory for him. It seemed odd, not to see him in his brown suit. The shirt and cotton trousers made him look quite a different man. And...Maggie didn't fail to notice, very attractive!  
'God, Maggie, you've got to stop this!' She admonished herself severely.  
Once downstairs, she made breakfast and handed Pete a mug of tea. It startled her, how his hands shook. The tremor was bad, and she felt suddenly very sad indeed.

A sharp rap on the street door, made them both jump. It was the police. She made the officers tea, while they interviewed him. It was hopeless, he saw nothing and remembered less, even if he had not been drunk, the kicking and beating he had received would probably have wiped his memory. His only real concern was the loss of his watch. It had belonged to his father and grandfather before that, and he would like it back. He didn't much care about his wallet or other possessions, but the watch was dear to him. The officer noted the details and would try the local pawn shops and jewellers in the hope of spotting it.  
" I believe it was your wife here that found you?" Said the sergeant, turning to Maggie.  
"I'm not h..."  
"Maggie is my gud friend, not my wife," Pete interjected. "I'd be dead if it weren't for her."  
With that Pete reached across and clasped her hand, his thumb stoking across the back. What Maggie felt when she heard those words, and felt that touch, not even she could quantify. 


	5. Chapter ught up in a Whirling Motion

Please be aware: This chapter does have mention of Domestic Abuse. I do not tackle the serious issue of Domestic Violence lightly. It is a very real problem. It does not only affect women. Men are victims too. In many cases, the victims blame themselves. There are registered helplines for advice and help if you are concerned about this issue.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CAUGHT UP IN A WHIRLING MOTION.

Police formalities over, Pete rested his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He felt tired beyond tiredness. Weary in every bone of his body, everything ached, each movement, especially in his chest made him catch his breath and gasp. And he hadn't had a drink in quite a while.

"Why don't you go back to bed, see if you can get comfortable, and sleep a little?" Maggie suggested.  
"I need a drink." He murmured, bowing his head as if ashamed.  
She poured him three fingers of Scotch and passed it to him. Taking it with trembling hands,  
he necked the amber liquid and leaned back with a sigh of relief.  
Perching on the settee next to him, she regarded him dispassionately.  
"You had no food in the house," she remarked, "I bought some groceries."  
"You should nae have, I'll ge ye the money back," he mumbled, "I don't eat much."  
"What you said to the policeman, about me being your good friend," she pursued," that was really nice, I'm glad you see me as a good friend."  
"Aye, well, as long as you're nae expecting much in return," he looked away from her, " I'm no' capable of giving much o' anything. You're beautiful, Maggie, and you're young, you should be out dancing, wi' a nice fella, not hanging around a useless old crock like me."  
"I'll be the judge of who I want to hang around with, thank you. In my experience nice 'fellas' are few and far between!" She flopped back against the cushions with a resigned air.

Pete scanned her face for a moment or two...  
"What happened to ye, Maggie? What makes a woman terrified of a raised arm?"  
"If you really want to know, I'll tell you..." She sighed and took a deep breath, as if she were about to dive underwater.  
"I was young when I went to London, " she began, " I was like Paddy...my Mum and especially my Step-Dad and I didn't see eye to eye, I won't go into details but I needed to get away. So I did. One day I just left, that was it. I had a part time job, I'd saved every bit of money I could and one day I just did it.  
Pete shifted in the chair, and she poured him another drink. He sipped it this time, thoughtfully.  
"I did okay, I was accepted to do my nursing training, I was able to live in the Nurses Home, I loved my job and I had a life. I had a couple of boyfriends, nothing serious, then I met Tom. I fell for him, Pete, hook, line and sinker. He was everything; clever, funny, fun to be with, everything.  
I moved in with him, and it was all pretty perfect."  
She turned to him and found he was listening intently, head cocked slightly on one side, face serious but kindly.  
"I don't really know how it changed," she continued," he started to get very possessive and kept checking up on me. The first time he hit me, we'd been to a pub and he said I'd been flirting. You know what? I blamed myself, maybe I had been a bit over the top. Over the months it gradually got worse, there were a few times he'd smacked me really hard. But each time I made excuses for him and I thought it was my fault. Then one night we'd been to a club, and after we got home he started screaming and yelling at me and he beat me up really badly. I threatened to call the police. He was so apologetic then, he cried and said how sorry he was, and how it'd never happen again, and for a while it didn't. Things were okay, then one day he just lost it."  
She lifted her long blonde hair to reveal a livid, jagged scar on the back of her neck. Pete gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight.  
"I fell backwards when he went for me and hit the glass coffee table." Her voice fell to a whisper, and her lip began to tremble...  
"I've never told anyone else about this...only the police when they came to the hospital."  
Maggie began to cry, very softly, huge tears coursing down her face, Pete took her hand in his own, gently.  
"I was lucky, it could have severed my carotid artery, it was this close." She held up the thumb and finger on her other hand, millimetres apart. "I didn't press charges, I should have done, but I didn't. What I did do, was run away, just like when I left Glasgow, except I ran back again. I seem destined to keep running away. But I don't want to run any more, Pete," she turned towards him, sobs coming unchecked now. "I'm tired of it all, I just want peace, I want to just BE. And I want to be good enough for someone, just the way I am, without changing myself. I've got a place now, and I've got the cafe, the hours are more convenient than nursing shifts, but I'm alone. Always alone. I said I didn't want any more relationships...but I need something, someone. I wasn't meant to be alone."

There was a silence between them as she finished speaking. Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, she blew her nose, gradually her emotion subsided. He still held her hand, but she pulled it away and left the sofa, heading for the kitchen.  
"I'll make some tea, " she mumbled. She had let down her guard, it was too soon. She felt ashamed.  
Pete remained where he was, apparently deep in thought. As she returned with two mugs, and he motioned her to pour some whiskey into his, he raised his eyes to look at her and let out a quick breath, as he seemed to have reached a decision.  
"Sit here, hen," he patted the seat next to him, "you're a lovely lass, an' ye deserve the thing you crave for. I hope one day you'll find it. I found mine, but then I lost it, and with it, I lost mysel."  
"Do you want to tell me? I'm here, and I'll listen."  
"Not really, hen, I'm no' much of a one for making people feel sorry fer me, I do a gud enough job o' feeling sorry for mysel."  
This time Maggie took his hand and clasped it in between both of her own.  
"Pete, I'm not sure how sorry I feel for you, I'm not really sure what I feel at all, but it might help me to understand how YOU feel, and why."  
Pete began to speak, slowly and evenly...  
"I was gonnae be a minister, ye know. My Da was a minister, and his Da before him." He closed his eyes, as if remembering.  
"But then I met Lorna and wanted te get wed. She was a shining girl, Maggie, a treasure, and she meant more to me than all the world. Me Da never spoke to me again, I let him down ye see, I let everyone down. But me an Lorna, we had each other, nothing else we needed. I got the job on the paper, I was allus gud at writing stuff. Her parents didn't like me, I was nae gud enough, so I let them down tu. We got wed, an we had five years together. I was that happy, Maggie, we did nae want for anythin. We had a home and we had each other. Then she fell for the bairn. She was nae well, all through...eclampsia, they called it. When she started her pains, they took her into hospital. I was nae allowed to see her, I knew somethin was nae right. She died having the little one, and the poor wee thing followed her next day."  
He stopped and swigged his Scotch laced tea...hand shaking again. Tears began to come unbidden.  
"And that was it, Maggie, I fell apart. I did nae want to live. I did nae want to live without her. I'd a topped mysel but I was too much of a coward even for that. I let her and my bairn down tu. I lost my faith in God, I lost everything. I spent the first months so drunk I could nae function, the booze numbed it all. It went away when I drank enough, I could nae feel it anymore. It was the only time I could get any respite, it got so as I could nae face the day WITHOUT a drink. So I just carried on. Then I could nae stop, even if I wanted tu. Can't live with it, can't live without it. I'm like a hamster on a wheel. It'll kill me eventually, then mebee I'll get some peace."  
"Oh...Pete...I'm so..."  
Maggie encircled him in her arms, holding him gently so as not to hurt him. To her surprise, she felt his arms on her back in return. His utter and complete hopelessness broke her heart. The fact he had never shared his feelings until now, never told a living soul, all this time, all these years of pain, with no relief, no respite. No wonder he could barely get through each day without the booze to prop him up.  
Breaking free, she touched his face.  
"We are a real pair of sad lost souls aren't we?"  
He gave a little half smile...  
"We are," he murmured, "what should we do about it d'ye think?"  
"Be very careful!" she replied smiling back.  
"Aye." He released his hold on her and she leaned back, regarding him fondly.  
"Seriously, Maggie, I don't know if I can do this, or if I even want to. Paddy has bin the closest thing I've had to a friend all this time, and as fer anything more..."  
"Pete, there is no way I'm rushing into anything, with you or anyone else. I'm not in any hurry, believe me. Shall we just agree to see how it goes? This is a huge thing for both of us, but we've started the right way...we've become friends. I'm not Lorna, I can't replace her, and you can't bring her back. But ten years is a long time, your grief has turned to self pity, and that makes you bitter, drinking reinforces that, until you can think of nothing else."  
"Aye," he replied sadly, "I know you're right, and I guess I needed to hear it. Maybe if I had something else, I could give it up."  
"Oh, Pete, that's too big a thing. Don't make promises you can't keep, not to me, and not now. It's too soon. We need to see what happens. But I will say something...even if nothing comes of this but you decide one day, you do want to give it up, I'll be there for you and I'll help you all I can and I'll be your sponsor and I'll be your friend...always."  
Emotion welled up in his face, he began to cry. Not like a adult, but like a child, a child that had been frightened for a very long time. It hurt his chest to cry, but he couldn't stop. It was as if flood gates had opened to his heart, and he could no longer keep it in.  
Maggie hushed him and spoke softly to him until he calmed. He felt wrung out and desperately tired.  
"You've had it Pete, you're exhausted. I'm going to make us some food, and I'll help you to bed. Then I'm going home, I need a shower and some sleep! I'll pop in, in the morning if you like, before I open the cafe."  
"No need, hen, I'll muddle through in the morning. I'll be okay to go in te work, once I'm there I'm only sitting on my backside. I cannae take anymore time off, they'll give me the heave-ho! Delvin only needs an excuse."  
"Well, here's my phone number, if you really can't manage, ring me! "  
After supper, he tackled the stairs unaided. He just needed help to get his shirt off and pyjama top on. Once in bed, sitting propped up, he looked much more comfortable. Maggie put a drink of water on the bedside table, and his medication. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him.  
"It's been quite a day hasn't it? One way and another!"  
He held his hand out to her.  
"Aye," his face was expectant," I cannae find words, Maggie, I cannae thank you, I don't know what to say."  
"You don't have to say anything, your face says it for you, just as it did in the hospital, when you wanted me to take you home. You didn't have to speak, Pete, I knew. I know now."  
She leaned over towards him, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, for a moment he seemed to hesitate. As she pulled away, his hand touched his face where her lips had been, as if the touch had burnt him.  
"Goodnight, Pete, try to sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow."  
She left him, bemused but smiling, hand still against his face. 


	6. Chapter 6 Such a Strange Sensation

This chapter (and the next) is going to deal with Alcoholism, and the treatment thereof. Please be aware of this. This subject is never to be taken lightly, deciding to give up drink after years of abuse, is a long and difficult road, relapses are common and the withdrawal side affects can be horrendous. I know, I've witnessed them in my professional career. For the purpose of this story, I'm going a little easy on Pete, because, after all, it's a story, not real life and we want him to get well, don't we? I hope I have done it justice.

Since the inspiration for the story was a Joan Armatrading song. Save Me. (From her Love and Affection album) I give the full lyrics. I love to sing and this song is a favourite of mine, so I've given Maggie a voice , so that she can sing it too.

Turnberry is on the Ayrshire coast and not far from Glasgow. It is an area I'm very familiar with. It is beautiful and restful. Probably best known for the fabulous Hotel and golf course, it is otherwise set on a sweeping bay, with a lighthouse and overlooks Ailsa Craig, out to sea, away to the left and the Isle of Arran, with the snow cap of Goat Fell away to the right. It is between Girvan and Maybole if anyone fancies looking it up!

CHAPTER SIX.

SUCH A STRANGE SENSATION.

Maggie slept very little that night despite being dog-tired. In fact it was a relief when morning came. The cafe was busy in the breakfast rush, but she was gladdened by the sight of Pete, walking gingerly through the door, helped by the ever-willing Paddy.

Once seated, he looked round for her, face expectant and hopeful.

"You made it then!" She put his mug of tea in front of him.

"Aye, wi' Paddy's aid," he smiled, "she got the shock of her life when she saw ma hid!"

The two sat opposite each other and Maggie served them both breakfast.

When the time came for them to leave, he sent Paddy on outside, and shuffled over to the counter.

"I need to talk wi' ye, hen, cud ye come to mine after closing?" He placed a hand on her forearm and squeezed slightly.

"Of course," she replied, intrigued. What could he want to talk to her about?

"I'm gonnae talk to Devlin today too," he continued, "I got one or two things I wannae ask him."

"Okay, I'll be there about six? I'll bring us some supper from the cafe leftovers if you like."

Pete nodded, and rejoined Paddy at the doorway, to take her arm, as she helped him down the street.

Pete opened the door to her knock, just after six o' clock, and ushered her inside. They sat together at his little kitchen table and ate the supper she had bought. He swallowed down a couple of whiskies, almost as if fortifying himself for what was to come. He was nervous and jittery, and even the scotch didn't help.

"Come on, Pete, spit it out, you're like a cat on a hot tin roof. What's wrong?"

He pushed back his chair, stood, and began to pace up and down.

"I did a lot o' thinking last night, after ye'd gone. I need help, Maggie, I need YOUR help. But I don't know if ye gonnae wanna do this." He paused, checking her face, for the effect his words were having. When he saw her impassive, he continued.

"It's time, Maggie, it's time. Ten years...I need to stop this. I need to get passed this huge well of bloody emptiness that I fill with malt. I want it to stop." His voice cracked.

"I can't do it alone..." He finished lamely.

Maggie, left her seat, moved toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tenderly towards her.

"Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

We never know why we take what steps we take. We do things on a whim, we make snap decisions and sometimes they colour the rest of our lives. Sometimes they go horribly wrong and we learn from the mistake. Sometimes the choice we make is the right one and we are enriched because of it.

Maggie, made that decision...on that day...at that moment. Whatever happened she made the commitment. She would be there, somehow she would endure whatever he could throw at her. Nursing experience told her it was not going to be easy. But somehow she couldn't back down. This man, this gentle, sad, lonely man, needed her. He needed her in a way no one had ever done before, and not in a possessive, controlling way, but as a friend, a helpmate, an ally, a support. How could she say no? Looking his eager face was enough, full of fear and anticipation, brimming with unshed tears. Begging for help, something he had never done before. Prepared to put his trust in her, having shut everyone and everything out for so long, suddenly he recognised a door opening, a way back, from the spiral of destruction, the path he'd stumbled down all this time. He was frightened, unsure of his own feelings, even more unsure of hers, it was a risk, a huge gamble, but he had to try, he had to ask, even if she rebuffed him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He was more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life.

It was true, that from the first time she had seen him stagger into the cafe, she had been drawn, irresistibly, inexorably towards him. No idea why...but there it was. There was something about the appealing way he looked, his vulnerability, his manner, old-fashioned, gentlemanly, just bloody loveable.

God, she was mad...stupid even, but the decision was made. There was no going back. She would have said yes, whatever the consequences, because she felt she had so much to gain. The reward...the reward could be of more value than anything she could imagine, deeper than anything she had any conception of, the reward was true love.

It took time to make arrangements. Mr. Devlin agreed that Dr. Pete would go on a months sick leave. Not renowned for his compassion, maybe part of him was glad to see Pete go, his feeling being that he would probably never return. Be that as it may, he seemed genuinely pleased that Pete was finally turning a corner, although he was sceptical of the results.

Maggie's cafe owner, was less than convinced, however. Loosing her as an excellent manageress was annoying, to say the least, but a month was out of the question. So Maggie resigned. No thought, no repercussions, no regrets. She handed in her notice.

Pete had money squirrelled away, she had some savings and they would survive.

So...here they were entering the cottage, rented from a small ad, in Pete's paper, in Turnberry village, on the Ayrshire coast. The beginning of the end...or the end of the beginning.

During the week leading to their enforced exile, Pete had been drinking very heavily. It was almost as if he knew, it was coming to an end, and his body craved one last hurrah. Maggie had, more or less, dragged him to see his GP. He had been prescribed Librium, to help counteract the DT's, and it was on his advice, that they made the decision to remove to a more remote location, where, hopefully, temptations would be fewer. The doctor also had a private word with Maggie, alone, by way of preparing her for what was to come. He counselled her; patience, a very thick skin and to be prepared for the worst, because it would probably be worse than she could ever imagine.

The cottage itself was small, but clean. Situated on the outskirts of the village, it overlooked the sweep of Turnberry Bay. At night the lighthouse winked constantly, with an almost mesmeric regularity. Which Maggie found comforting.

Pete was nervous and skittish. By turns pacing, wringing his hands, as if readying himself for some great conflict. It proved difficult to sooth him.

Eventually Maggie sat him down, and faced him. She took his hands in her own,

"Pete, listen to me...whatever happens, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving. No matter what. You have to trust me. I know you're scared, so am I, but we can do this."

No reply came, he just nodded, and inhaled deeply.

There was to be no 'honeymoon period'. The withdrawal symptoms began from the first morning. He shook like a leaf in an autumn storm. Hands first, but then the tremors seemed to overtake his whole being after the first couple of days. He resolutely refused to take the medication. Concentration on anything other than just making it through the day was impossible. He tried sitting on his hands, but then his shoulders quaked. Maggie almost had to hold a cup to his lips to enable him to drink. He would lay, either in bed or on the sofa, curled up, knees drawn to his chest, in the foetal position.

*A walk helped.*

Skirting the edge of the golf course, they found their way onto the beach. The sea was flat and grey, and Ailsa Craig stood sentinel in the distance, swathed in mist. Pete walked bent over, head down, breathing laboured. His arm hooked tightly through hers. The air had a salty tang, the breeze light, ruffling his grey curls. On reaching the rocks at the far end of the bay, they watched the cormorants diving, under the shadow of the lighthouse. Away to their right, the Isle of Arran shimmered, a snowy cap on the top of Goat Fell, the island's highest peak.

Pete was exhausted when they returned, and fell asleep. Mercifully spared the constant tremor, at least for a while.

Maggie's main concern, in that first week, was that Pete seemed unable to eat. At first it was a vague queasiness, but as the days wore on, the feeling increased.

Waking suddenly from a deep sleep, she was aware that a noise had woken her. Sliding out of her bed, she crossed the landing to Pete's room...it was empty, but she could hear sounds from the direction of the bathroom.

She found him...on his knees in front of the toilet bowl, shirtless, drenched in perspiration, heaving and retching. His whole chest and abdomen contorting in an effort to vomit, but his stomach was empty and there was nothing but bile.

"Christ...Christ. Maggie, please make it stop. I can't take anymore!"

The light touch of her hand on the damp skin over his spine made him flinch. She sat down on the tiled bathroom floor, leaning against the side of the bath tub. Pulling him off his knees, he sat with his back against her with her legs either side of him. Maggie put her arms over his shoulders and down his bare chest, fingers splayed to rub his sore stomach with gentle circular motions. His head relaxed beside hers, cheeks touching.

Cradling him and with a slight rocking motion, to sooth him, she began to sing...

Sinking

Caught up in a whirling motion

Such a strange sensation

The currents uncertain

Like sails of a mill

I spin

Like wheels I move in a circle

While you stand on the bank

Immune or evasive

Throw me a lifeline

Save me...

Intimacy and affection

Frozen

In this game of chance

I forfeit

Full hand of love

With no counters

Like a moth

With no flame

To persuade me

Like blood in the rain

Running thin

While you stand on the inside

Looking in

Save me...

Inside looking in

Complete in yourself

Throw me a lifeline

Save me...

Stand on the bank

Immune or evasive

Throw me a lifeline

Save me...

The sound was melodious and resonated deep in the tiled room. Pete thought it was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. He closed his eyes and his rapid breathing stilled, as the words of the song washed over him, penetrating every fibre. His hands came up and lay across her own, fingers resting there. Emotion welled, but he didn't cry, sucking in long lungfuls of breath, letting them out slowly. In...out, in...out. Calming, restful. Days might pass, he could sit there for ever. Listening to the siren sound of her lovely voice.

*A walk helped.*

Fresh, sea air, the cry of the gulls, the whistle of the wind through the sea grass and the coconut scent of the gorse bushes. Across the golf course fairways, larks would sing as they rose skyward in exaltation. The sensory explosion left him reeling, rendered him speechless and humbled. It was healing, it was balm, his body craved it, almost as much as the Scotch.

There were to be many, many nights like this, where, after throwing up, he would crawl, weak and spent, into bed and lay exhausted and shaking, and she sang to him, until, he eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

*A walk helped.*

Up over the hills at the back of the Hotel, where the wind whistled and moaned and bent the trees into grotesque shapes and the pink heather ruffled. Where you could stand and look down over the whole bay, and sometimes, if the weather was exceptionally clear, the Mountains of Mourne in Northern Ireland, could be glimpsed as a distant dark shadow across the sea.

Maggie had been surprised, really, at how well he had coped. Tremors and nausea and sweating aside, it was nothing she hadn't expected. He was not out of the woods yet, however. There was still more to come...


	7. Chapter 7 Intimacy and Affection

I give the full Dylan Thomas poem here, that Dr Pete is so fond of, and recites in The Field of Blood and in my story. The words are glorious and fitting in both contexts.

And death shall have no dominion.  
Dead man naked they shall be one  
With the man in the wind and the west moon;  
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,  
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;  
Though they go mad they shall be sane,  
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;  
Though lovers be lost love shall not;  
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.  
Under the windings of the sea  
They lying long shall not die windily;  
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,  
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;  
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,  
And the unicorn evils run them through;  
Split all ends up they shan't crack;  
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.  
No more may gulls cry at their ears  
Or waves break loud on the seashores;  
Where blew a flower may a flower no more  
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;  
Though they be mad and dead as nails,  
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;  
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,  
And death shall have no dominion.

Dylan Thomas.

The song that Maggie sings is Crossroads. From the American Pie album by Don McLean. I give the full lyrics here. It's one of the songs I quite often performed many moons ago, and therefore Maggie can sing it too. It is particularly fitting for Pete/Maggie. You can listen on YouTube.

I've got nothing on my mind,

Nothing to remember,

Nothing to forget.

And I've got nothing to regret.

But I'm all tied up on the inside,

No one knows quite what I've got,

And I know that on the outside

What I used to be

I'm not

anymore.

You know I've heard about people like me

But I never made the connection.

They walk one road to set them free

And find they've gone the wrong direction.

But there's no need for turning back

Cause all roads lead to where I stand;

And I believe I'll walk them all

No matter what I may have planned.

Can you remember who I was?

Can you still feel it?

Can you find my pain?

Can you heal it?

Then lay your hands upon me now

And cast this darkness from my soul.

You alone can light my way.

You alone can make me whole

Once again.

We've walked both sides of every street

Through all kinds of windy weather;

But that was never our defeat

As long as we could walk together.

So there's no need for turning back

Cause all roads lead to where we stand;

And I believe we'll walk them all

No matter what we may have planned.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

INTIMACY AND AFFECTION.

Strong wind, whipped the sea into a seething, boiling maelstrom. White horses foamed on the waves. Lashing rain pelted against the window panes. Going out was not really an option.

This night had been particular purgatory for Pete. Hearing him call out, she had found him drenched in sweat, sheets and pyjamas soaked through. His body gripped with rigors, teeth chattering with cold and yet his body burned. Without protest he allowed her to strip him and shower him down. No longer caring that she saw him naked, he was bare to her both bodily and mentally. He stood dripping on the bathroom floor, quaking from head to foot. Incapable of helping, as she pulled a clean T-shirt over his damp head, leaning on her heavily as he stepped into boxers, she on her knees on the floor in front of him.

His bed was stripped to the mattress, so she took him into her bed. It was three in the morning, and he shivered there, in her arms, until dawn. When he finally lapsed into a fitful sleep.

As the weather was so poor, and Pete felt so weak from the previous night, they settled together to read. He bought a couple books with him from his own shelves. There was one in particular, he constantly returned to. A leather bound volume of poetry.

"Which is your favourite?" She asked, moving closer, to peer over his arm.

"Which one means the most to you?"

"I read this at Lorna's funeral." He said quietly,

"I guess it says it all really."

"Will you read it to me...? I'd like to hear it."

He nodded and began to recite, the slight timbre in his voice, and his deep Scots burr, very pleasurable to listen to...

And death shall have no dominion.  
Dead man naked they shall be one  
With the man in the wind and the west moon;  
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,  
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;  
Though they go mad they shall be sane,  
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;  
Though lovers be lost love shall not;  
And death shall have no dominion...

He sighed deeply and stopped, too emotional to continue.

Curling his knees up he lay down next to her, his head in her lap. Allowing her to gently run her fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep again. Exhausted from the night before.

Watery, golden light poured through the curtains, the day promised fine. Pete had managed two better days and had slept for a few hours straight.

Together they headed to Ardrossan, near Saltcoats and caught the CalMac ferry over to Brodick on Arran. They spent the day there, in the sunshine. Wandering the narrow streets. Walking the coast road. They had lunch at Brodick Castle, where there were gardens to stroll through and a country park. Heading home in the early evening.

Maggie had so enjoyed the day, and had dared to hope that Pete had turned a corner, on his road to recovery.

The withdrawal symptoms had other ideas, however.

Once they returned to the cottage, he seemed completely worn out. Maggie worried that the day had been too much for him. It was true, that eating had been a huge problem, but since his sickness had abated somewhat, he had been able to keep some food down, provided he ate little and often.

He went, more or less, straight to bed. Maggie settled herself on the sofa with her sketch book and pencils.

It was around eleven, and she was just thinking of packing up, when there came a strangled cry from upstairs.

Pete was sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and fearful, staring at the wardrobe opposite the bottom of the bed.

"Pete...what is it? What's wrong?"

She perched on the side of the bed, but he didn't turn his head or move, gaze still fixed on the same place. He gripped her arm suddenly.

"She was here..." His voice was a rasp, terrified and almost inaudible.

"Who was? Who was here?"

"Lorna..." He whispered, "I saw her, she was right there...she's come for me."

"Pete...look at me."

He turned his head very slowly, reluctant to move his eyes from the spot.

"She's not there, there is no one there. Your brain is playing tricks on you. Pete...listen to me!"

He shook his head..."But I SAW her...she was there...I..."

"Pete...its in your mind, there is no one there, believe me."

He was not convinced, and refused to let her go. He was so frightened that he clutched at her desperately, trying to pull her closer to him.

"Don't leave me, Maggie...don't go, please...stay with me, keep her away!"

Maggie pulled herself onto the bed next to him and gathered him to her.

"Lorna would never hurt you, Pete, she loved you...please don't be afraid. If she came it would be because she's proud of you. Because she thinks you are wonderful. I think you're wonderful too!"

She said the words without thinking. He pushed back from her, a look of astonishment on his face. His eyes bored into hers, questioning, searching.

He seemed to see something written there and before she could speak again, his lips were on hers.

The touch was a whisper at first, but then, as she responded, he deepened the kiss. Their mouths pulling, exploring, each drawing the other in. He pulled back, running his tongue over where her lips had just been, as if savouring the taste, before renewing his assault, with a desperate moan.

She whimpered as she felt his arms tighten, trying to bring her ever closer, fingers in her hair.

His tongue seeking entrance between her lips. The kiss broke, after a few moments. Breathless, his face flushed, lips swollen...he seemed suddenly flustered and ashamed.

"I'm sorry, hen, I don't know what came over me...I just wanted..."

"Shhhhh! Pete, it was lovely. Please do it again!" She smiled up at him.

Maggie lay curled against him, head resting on his chest just under his shoulder. Arm draped across him. This new level of intimacy had taken them both by surprise, and neither one knew quite what to do or say. After an hour or so, in companionable silence, Pete suddenly murmured,

"Sing to me."

She smiled and snuggled closer to him, took a breath, and began...

I've got nothing on my mind

Nothing to remember

Nothing to forget

I've got nothing to regret.

But I'm all tied up on the inside,

no one knows quite what I've got,

and I know that on the outside,

what I used to be, I'm not

Anymore...

She ceased, as Pete's chest began to shake under her, as he began to weep.

"Oh, Pete, please don't cry." She sat herself up, to cradle his face in her hands.

"It's a song of hope, a song of faith, it's not meant to be sad."

"It's no' that, hen, it's your voice, it's so beautiful. I never heard a voice like it, and I love it."

Bending toward him, she kissed him, with warmth and tenderness.

"You know, I think we've had more than enough emotion for today," she gave a little smile.

"I think you should try to sleep."

He smiled back but didn't reply. Nestling back against him with a sigh, she closed her eyes.

Within fifteen minutes they were both slumbering peacefully.

Their month was almost up. Against all the odds, Pete had remained dry. Although, to be fair, his determination had remained so strong, that he would not be swayed from his goal. It was strength he did not know he possessed. What he had been through in the last few weeks was horrific, but never once had he wanted to go back.

Several things, however, had become clear. Firstly he did not want to return to the newspaper. He feared the temptation of the press bar would prove too much. He wasn't even sure he wanted to return home. Glasgow was his life, he'd lived nowhere else , but he no longer felt like the same person anymore, indeed, he was keen to leave his old self behind.

Secondly, Maggie hadn't left his side, for virtually the whole time, and he was afraid. Afraid that if he were left to himself, he would be unable to cope and slide backwards again.

Thirdly, and probably most significantly, he was in love. He had not dared to broach this with Maggie herself, but he knew it was true. Lorna was the only woman he had ever fallen for in a big way, their bond had been strong, so strong that her death had rendered him unable to carry on alone. They had sacrificed so much to be together, that the rug was pulled out from under his feet. The feelings he had now, were wholly different.

Maggie was his soulmate, of that he was convinced. His attachment to her was profound, not just because she'd helped him, but because he trusted her. Trusted her in a way that he hadn't even done with Lorna. She wouldn't let him down, her strength had sustained him, and he was sure, if he could stay sober, that he could be strong enough to sustain her too. The comfort of having her nearby was something he did not wish to relinquish. The thought of spending a single day without her, pained him. As the alcohol had been purged from his system, his libido, long since subdued, had begun to resurface.

Seeing Maggie moving around the cottage, the way her soft fair hair fell over her face, her eyes, bright blue and dancing, her very presence, enticed him.

A few days had passed since he'd kissed her; shocked at his own lack of control, he'd backed off, but, ultimately he wanted more. He thought of practically nothing else. Her lips against his, the softness of her body pressed against him and the warmth that coursed through him when she was close by. If they returned to the city, it would not be the same. In short, he did not want it to end.

But what to do?

He had a great deal of thinking to do, and at some point, a good many questions to ask of himself and Maggie.

Somehow he would have to find the courage to speak to her.

The following day was Sunday. Pete did something he had not done for more than ten years...he went to Church.

To make the reader aware. As well as the DT's and nausea and sickness, rigors or even seizures and hallucinations are other complications accompanying the withdrawal from alcohol. So Pete is not unusual in suffering in this way.


	8. Chapter 8 A Full Hand of Love

The church that Pete visits is the North Parish church in Girvan. It is a fine red stone church with a steeple, built during the reign of Queen Victoria. It is Kirk of Scotland. Although it is written that Pete is a lapsed Catholic, and therefore trained for the priesthood, I cannot see him returning to that fold. Particularly bearing in mind his burgeoning relationship with Maggie. I, therefore see him being much more drawn to the Presbyterian.  
Girvan is a small town, but gets quite a few summer visitors, in winter I would describe it as 'sleepy'. It is not lost on me, that it also has a Distillery but I'm afraid Pete is just going to have to stay well away!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A FULL HAND OF LOVE.

Waking to find the cottage empty, was a huge shock for Maggie. Ringing his phone produced no answer and it switched straight to voicemail.  
An hour passed...two...three. There was still no sign of him.  
Maggie was frantic.  
As he had come so far, she really hadn't expected a relapse now, he had seemed so determined, so focussed.  
Where could he be? The thought that he may have embarked on a bender, made her feel sick with fear.  
Grabbing her jacket, she set out to look for him. Since his favourite place was the beach, she headed across the golf course and down through the dunes. Scanning right and left, she walked towards the lighthouse.  
It wasn't long before she spotted him. Seated on a lump of driftwood, gazing across towards the hazy shape that was the Mull of Kintyre.  
He saw her while she was still some distance away, but remained where he was.  
"Christ, Pete...where did you go? I've been worried sick."  
There was no smell of drink that she could detect, and he seemed perfectly calm and at ease, if somewhat detached.  
"I've been to Girvan." His voice sounded nonchalant, as if this was what he did every day of the week.  
"Girvan!" She cried, "what for?"  
"I've been to Kirk." He replied, turning to look at her and smiling slightly. "It was a whim." He ended, lamely.  
"A whim? A bloody whim? Good God, Pete, I wondered where the hell you were. I can't tell you the thoughts that went through my head, but they ranged from drunk and disorderly to under a bus!"  
His laugh, shook her to the core. He never laughed like that around her before. Head tilted back, shoulders shaking, hand across his belly, a chuckling, merry sound, that moved her deeply.  
Thumping his arm playfully, he gripped it as in mock agony.  
"Me worried sick, and all the time you were sitting in church...you stupid sod!"  
"I ha' some thinking to do, and some questions I needed answering and it suddenly seemed like the best place to be." He said, with a shrug.  
Maggie put her arms around his neck, more in relief than anything else. His hand traced her forearm thoughtfully.  
"So...did you receive any answers to these burning questions?" She enquired.  
"Aye... I spoke te the pastor. He was a nice man, he helped me te see a few things more clearly."  
She tightened her grip around him, cheek resting against his.  
"I bin sittin here, wondering what te say te ye, how I'm gonnae say, what I want te..." He paused,  
"I cannae go back, Maggie, I don't want te, I want..."  
"Neither do I!" She cut in, "I don't want to go back either. I want to be with you."  
He turned to look at her in astonishment...  
"I had a speech all worked out, how I was gonnae persuade ye, how I wanted us...to be us!"  
Her reply was to lean closer and capture his lips with her own, and his response was instant. Hand cradling the back of her head, the kiss slow and warm, cheeks wet, he melted into her. Eventually pulling back, gasping...  
"I love you, Maggie. Wi' all my heart and soul. An' I know I'm no' much o' a catch. But if ye could see ye way clear to bein' wi' me, I promise ye I'll do my best fer ye...There, I've said it!"  
He slumped back overwhelmed, relief flooding from him, declaring his love for her had been the first brave step.  
Maggie's bright blue eyes shone, she took his face in her hands, thumbing away the tears there.  
"Peter Macpherson, I declare that I'm in love with you, and I want to be with you always. I'll do whatever I can to help and take care of you and I promise I'll do my best for you too."  
"I'll always be an alcoholic, darlin', but I never want to drink again. I dinnae want to go back to that person I became, I want a future, and I want it wi' ye."

They strolled back to the cottage, her arm hooked through his. Somehow, they would make this work. They would survive. Both knew it would not be plain sailing. But they had faith and they had to try.

Returning to Glasgow the following week, filled them both with trepidation. His key turned in the lock and he entered his little home. The stark contrast between its gloomy interior and the light and air of the cottage, was tangible. Pete felt it keenly. The stale smell of whiskey caused him to retch . He had never even been aware of it before, and now it assaulted his nostrils, the back of his throat constricting, he hurried out into the street. Maggie followed him, and found him leaning, hand against the wall for support, sucking in lungfuls of air. She rubbed his back tenderly.  
"I cannae stay here." He whispered.  
"We'll go to mine, don't worry, it'll be fine. You'll be fine."  
He grabbed a few essentials and they headed for Maggie's flat.  
Pots and pans clattered as Maggie prepared supper. Pete wandered idly round her living area, glancing at the books on the shelves, admiring her sketches and generally taking in the items that made the place hers.  
They ate together, then curled up on the sofa side by side.  
"So...what are we going to do?" She began, thoughtfully, tracing the back of his arm with her fingers.  
"I was thinking of free-lance," he replied," I might o' bin a drunk, but I'm gud at what I do...I can write. But I want to sell ma place. I cannae go back there. What d'ye think about Girvan? It's a nice wee town?"  
"Girvan sounds good, I don't really care where I live, as long as we're together. If I sell this place too, we'll have a bit of cash to spare. It's cheaper there than here. Then I could maybe look for a job?"  
"Ye'd be prepared to do tha'? Just up sticks an' leave...?"  
"Yes, no question. This kind of thing doesn't happen every day Pete. What we have is special, and I'm not prepared to let it get away."  
"I look at mysel in the mirror, sometimes, and I cannae believe what a lucky bastard I am. What did I do te deserve this?"  
"You were just you, Pete, and that was enough. You are a good and decent man, but you were dealt a blow, which shook you to the core. Now you are ready to move on. It's taken a while, but here you are."  
"And it's all down te ye."  
"No, it isn't Pete, it's down to you. It had to be your decision, no one else's, and it's you that's been through the wringer these past weeks. I have only been there to ease the way."  
"I wud never have done it alone...never. I'd still be where ye found me. I'm never goin' back to that life again, I've seen the other side now and I like it too much to go back. I want a fresh start, a new beginning and I want ye to share it wi' me."  
"Then I'll do it gladly, it'll be a new start for both of us."

Maggie yawned.  
"We'll talk about it some more in the morning, you're exhausted and so am I. I'm going to bed...you coming?"  
His expression was first startled, then apprehensive...  
"Ye mean wi' you?"  
"Of course, with me, I don't have a spare room, and I've only one bed!" She gave him a little smile of encouragement, and he left the couch and followed her meekly to her room.

Through all the weeks of her caring for him and being close to him, and while he had been so ill and vulnerable, Pete had ceased to be bothered much by baring himself to her. Now, however, stone cold sober and completely aware of everything, he suddenly felt painfully shy.  
"I've no' bin with anyone since Lorna." He murmured, "I can't even remember what it feels like."  
"Pete, you don't have to DO anything," she replied gently, " there is no rush and no pressure. You must do what you feel comfortable with."  
He felt gauche and self-conscious as he undressed, down to T-shirt and boxers, and slid under the covers. Maggie climbed in beside him and he watched her nervously.  
"You don't have to look so fearful, Pete. I'm not going to eat you! Come here and give me a cuddle!"  
Holding her arms open to him, he shuffled closer and she wrapped them around him. His eyes closed, as he breathed in the warmth of her, the scent of her skin and hair.  
"I'm terrified," he whispered, voice a rasp in his throat.  
She placed her lips on his, softly. A shiver of anticipation flowed through him. Gentle stroking motions under his shirt, made him moan, and respond.  
For someone so out of practice, he was a patient and considerate lover. Attentive and sweet, the little sounds of need he made, only served to render him more desirable to her. The fire inside him built as he caressed her body, feeling the longing there.  
When she yielded to him, and he entered her, the intensity was so great, it almost made him cry out. A rush of love and emotion overtook him, pleasure and desire, all at once. So long in the wilderness, finally he was home. Falling forwards against her breast with his release, his heart soared within him, and he wept, but tears of joy, not sadness.  
Maggie, clung to him blindly, riding her own wave of ecstasy. Gasping for breath, and whispering her love into the curls of hair by his ear.  
Gradually their breathing slowed and calmed, and they slept. Untroubled and relaxed, entwined in each other's embrace.

The feeling of exhilaration stayed with him all the next day. Waking before her, he lay on his back staring at the ceiling, for a few moments, before turning and leaning on one elbow to look at the sleeping form at his side. He mapped her face, committing each feature to memory. Her aquiline nose, similar to his own, freckles on her face, long fair eyelashes and brows, a pretty mouth, the lips slightly apart, tendrils of pale hair against her cheek and the shell-like curve of her ear. He wanted to file this morning in his mind and hold it there forever, the first morning he'd woken after making love to her, he'd never forget it as long as he lived.

During the months that followed, their plans were formulated, and if they selfishly spent a great deal of time together, then so be it.  
There were days when they spent all afternoon in bed...and why not? Just experiencing the closeness, the desire, the sheer bliss of each other's company, the unbridled passion they now shared. Who would blame them if they could not get enough of it?  
Estate Agents had been to value their properties and they had found a place that suited them well. It was not large, but it was light and airy and had a room for Pete to use as a study, where he could write, three reasonable sized bedrooms and a small garden. Better still it was situated on a rise of ground which afforded a view out to sea. They could reach the beach in a few minutes walk and there were shops in the town and more nearby.  
Telling Devlin, he wasn't returning was no great surprise to his boss, but he did at least show that he was happy for him. Breaking the news to Paddy was a little more difficult. Maggie invited her to eat with them, so they could tell her privately. She cried, and clung to Pete's neck,  
"What will I do without you?"  
Pete hushed her, he knew she had the ambition to succeed and didn't need him any more to help her.  
"If ye ever need to get away from the buggers, you jump on the train and come an' stay! We'll have a room fer ye and you're always welcome."  
"That goes for both of us, Paddy, as soon as we're settled, you must be our first visitor."

One thing now remained, and that was to sort through and box up Pete's belongings. Since their return to Glasgow, he had not been back to his home again. He developed a complete mental block about it. The very thought of going there made him feel nauseous. It represented his old life and all that was poison about it, and, try as he might, he just couldn't bring himself to go there.  
However, the house sales were going through, and face it he must. Maggie sat him down one day, and tackled him sternly.  
"Tomorrow, we are going to your place," she began. Pete swallowed thickly.  
"I'm going to throw open the windows, draw back the curtains and let in the light. You and I... together... are going to go through all your things. I am going to scrub that place to within an inch of its life!"  
She was true to her word.  
The beautiful leather volumes were packed with reverence. There was also a great deal of junk to dispose of, and Maggie attacked this with gusto. Pete absented himself and she found him an hour later, sitting on the floor surrounded by files of papers.  
"What's all this?"  
He looked up sharply, face barely composed.  
"My stories, my poems, my articles...from way back."  
She knelt beside him and picked up one of the yellowing manuscripts. It was a love poem. Beautifully written, tender and poignant, his style was spare and polished, flowing and articulate.  
"God...Pete...you wrote this?"  
"Aye, a lang time ago."  
Tears stung her eyes.  
"But, Pete, this is wonderful, it's sublime...you could publish this..."  
"It's no' meant for public consumption." He said, somewhat sharply, collecting up the sheaves and refiling them.  
"Well, don't you dare throw them away, because I would like to read them. Please Pete...don't, I'm asking you..."  
"Okay, hen, stick them in the box with ma books. They'll no' take up much space."

Almost everything was packed, the place looked different now, and smelled fresher. The last thing remaining was the empty silver photo frame on the mantle. They both made a grab for it at the same moment. It fell, and shattered. Pete gave a cry, as Maggie knelt to carefully retrieve it from the shards of glass. Inside, turned so that it faced inwards, was a colour photograph.  
It was faded but still clear.  
An intense looking young man, with a ridiculous head of hair, smiling broadly, his arm around a dark haired young woman. Her face was oval and framed with curls, a wide mouth and large brown eyes, expressive and merry. She was laughing, head tilted slightly back.  
Pete made to take it from her, but she pulled away.  
"This is you...and Lorna?"  
"Aye." His mouth was set, jaw tight.  
"Oh, Pete...she's lovely!" Her finger traced the face in the picture.  
"I'm sorry, hen, you did nae need to see that."  
He reached out again, to take it from her, but she hesitated.  
"Why did you turn it round?"  
"I could nae bare to look at it, too many memories." He murmured. "Sorry ye had te see it."  
"What do you mean? Why should I not want to see it?"  
"Well...it's my past...it's..."  
"It's part of you, Pete, it's you and your wife, and she's beautiful, and look how happy you both are. It shouldn't be buried away, it should be celebrated. When we move, this is going in a new frame and it's going to be on display!"  
Pete hugged her with a sudden fervour, taking her by surprise and knocking her almost off balance.  
"You're wonderful...you know that? And I love you so much!" 


	9. Chapter 9 Complete in Yourself

This chapter is really by way of tidying up the loose ends. I know the tale was a bit bleak but at least it has a happy ending! It had to have really, because I am a hopeless romantic at heart, and there is so much that's bad in the world, I need to write something with hope!  
Also...don't think...'that would never happen' because, love does happen like that sometimes. You can be that lucky. It happened to me, and I'm still with my husband and best buddy 33 years later!

I've said this before...but I can't (or don't ) write, out and out explicit sex scenes...that's not to say I don't enjoy reading them...I do, but there are so many out there and so many who write them better than I could, that I prefer to leave something to the imagination.

I hope you enjoyed the story, I've had some really nice messages on here and on Tumblr, so thank you all for taking the trouble. It's much appreciated.

CHAPTER NINE.

COMPLETE IN YOURSELF.

The last boxes were taped up, ready for the removal men and Pete prepared to close his front door for the very last time.  
A car drew up in the street outside, and a police officer got out.  
Pete met him on the threshold.  
"Mr Macpherson ?"  
"Tha's me..."  
"I have some stolen property that I believe belongs to you...I've come to return it!"  
Wrapped in a cellophane evidence bag was his watch that had been stolen during the mugging.  
Maggie was incredulous.  
"This is wonderful...how did you find it?" She asked.  
"Someone took it into a jewellers to sell, and luckily for us, he was an honest soul, and was suspicious, so he rang us."  
Pete took the watch and caressed the solid case with his thumb, it was a fine timepiece, the lid sprung open at his touch, to reveal a jewelled movement inside.  
"Me Da' give it to me," he murmured," it was his father's, it was the only thing I had that belonged to him. Thank ye for bringing it. I appreciate it."  
He turned to Maggie, and handed it to her.  
"Does this mean you've caught the muggers?" She enquired.  
"I'm afraid not, yet. The item had passed through several hands. But, you never know!" He replied and turned to leave.  
"Never thought to see it again." Said Pete, he was quite choked.  
"It's a sign," smiled Maggie, "it's giving us good luck!"

Settling in Girvan, proved to be the making of Pete, in more ways than one.  
Maggie persuaded him to sort through his manuscripts and transfer them from paper to computer. The result of several weeks of hard work, which more than kept him occupied, was that some pieces were accepted for publication.  
From that small beginning came a string of offers, for articles and other pieces. He wrote, what he knew best...from the heart...local colour, stories, poems, his own experiences and it bought him a good income.  
Maggie herself found a job in a coffee shop in the town and was soon, more or less, running the place. Much as she had in Glasgow. She also joined the local Music Society and choir. Pete would come along and sit, listening enraptured as she sang. It was one of the greatest pleasures of his new life.  
Pete also revisited the pastor at the North Parish Church, to thank him, for being such help in his time of need, and for being the catalyst in making his confession of love to Maggie. The two men became good friends and Pete became a lay-reader at the Kirk. Rekindling some of the faith he had lost so long before.  
He never tired of walking along the beach, both summer and winter. The peace it bought him, and Maggie too, standing together with their daft black labrador, (the latest addition to their household) charging up and down around them ,watching the evening sky change colour over the rock of Ailsa Craig out to sea, could not be measured, or spoken in words.  
Of course everything wasn't all roses, nothing ever is. They had ups and downs, but they had a strong relationship and they loved each other, and that counted for a lot.  
As for Pete, he thanked God for the day he walked in to that cafe in Glasgow, to buy his breakfast...

EPILOGUE.  
TWO YEARS LATER.

Watery spring sunshine slanted down through the trees, between the headstones. Daffodils bobbed in the breeze. The air was full of birdsong.  
The man bent and placed a bunch of roses against the grave. His hair a little more silver now, but he was still handsome and slim. He turned and gripped the hand of his wife, who stood beside him, a fair haired toddler in red wellies clasped to her side.  
Together they stood back as he recited the words...

And death shall have no dominion.  
Dead man naked they shall be one  
With the man in the wind and the west moon;  
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,  
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;  
Though they go mad they shall be sane,  
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;  
Though lovers be lost love shall not;  
And death shall have no dominion...

It was April 20th...

Well, that's it. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! 


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